


petrichor blues

by Myniras



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homesick Lance (Voltron), M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), barely even any kind of writing, i have no idea how tags work hhh, if i dare even use that tag, just seven hundred words of a scene i could not get out of my head, like hardcore pining, so just take it, wannabe indie novel feel like a john green stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myniras/pseuds/Myniras
Summary: separate love into its components, break it down to its bones. study its anatomy. breathless euphoria, devotion, adoration. all is equal, all is balanced. this is what entropy states. invert these things, create the balance, remove the positive from the emotion and all that remains is bitter longing.lance loves earth, and earth is not there.





	petrichor blues

**Author's Note:**

> i'm fully aware the description sounds pretentious but it's two in the morning i'm a science nerd it's basically just talking about atomic structure okay

Keith notices the sound of rain before he notices Lance is missing. His stumbling words mean he’s not too keen to stay in this crowded room where verbal ballet seems so expected of him; he envies the others and how they can manipulate phrases to dance off of their tongues. Keith leaves with the certainty he will not be missed.  
It takes a while of wandering through half-lit corridors to find him. Keith likes the silence, how the air he breathes there seems to be his and his alone. He likes how time feels in these few fleeting moments. It doesn’t stop moving. It just feels as though it never existed in the first place.  
He comes to an open door and the full sound of rain, and pauses.  
Lance stands outside, his hand stretched out just beyond the overhang protecting him from the gale. He turns it, slowly, as if in awe, and then slow as dreaming steps out into the downpour. Head back, arms rising, Keith thinks he let out a giddy laugh. The wind snatches it away before he can hear it properly.  
He flinches back when Lance begins to turn, arms out, head back, eyes shut. Slowly, slowly circling, and when Lance turns round far enough for Keith to glimpse his face it steals the air from his lungs. The truest smile Keith has ever seen, carefree and overflowing, mouth open and eyes closed. Keith stares until Lance turns far enough that he can no longer see it. He wonders why Lance had never smiled like that for him.  
Some part of Keith wants to join him, but he stops himself. This moment feels intensely private, as if he were peering in on some clandestine memory. He just watches, stares at Lance’s back where his clothes have become plastered to it in the deluge.  
It’s sudden, the change. Lance stills for a half dozen heartbeats, then his arms fall limply to his sides. His shoulders slump. Keith is unsure what’s happening until he sees the shaking, hears the sobs that the wind lets through.  
Something in him twists.  
His feet have moved before he even realises he’s walking. Past the door, past the overhang. His clothes and hair are soaked through in seconds. He approaches Lance’s shuddering figure, and it’s wrong, because this is Lance – Lance, with all his bravado and talking back, summer boy with summer skin and eyes like the Arizona dusk, harsh voice and loud mouth and a smile soft enough to make Keith catch fire inside.  
(Keith is afraid of fire.)  
It isn’t right for Lance to look this small, this fragile.  
The wind chills him in seconds until his bones are ice, but he pushes that to one side as he comes up to Lance’s shoulder. He puts his hand there, as soft as he can muster, though Lance still flinches and snaps his head round to look at him. His eyes are red-rimmed and ruined, and Keith can’t tell if the droplets that hang from his eyelashes are tears or raindrops. His expression is guarded as he looks at Keith. He realises his hand is still resting on Lance’s shoulder.  
Had it been any other day, any other time or place, Keith would have snatched it away, indulged Lance in some half-hearted joke about his rivalry.  
It’s not, though. It’s pouring rain and freezing bones and the look on Lance’s tortured face tearing Keith’s heart in two. He moves his hand until it rests on Lance’s cheek, as gentle as he can be when his body is shivering from the cold.  
(he tells himself it’s the cold.)  
He strokes away the rivulets of rain or tears or despair from beneath Lance’s eye, thumb moving soft against icy skin. Searches Lance’s face. Tries to get him to understand.  
Just like that, something in Lance appears to break. Some great wall holding back torrents greater than the storm that surrounds them, gone like elastic snaps. Lance’s face crumples beneath Keith’s palm, great shuddering sobs wracking his body. He buries his face in Keith’s shoulder, hands clinging to the sides of his jacket like a child. Keith holds him, one hand cradling the back of his head. He feels huffs of warm breath condense on his neck. The other hand is pressed into his back between his shoulder blades. Right above his heart.  
He runs his hand through Lance’s hair, turning his face so it’s pressed into his head. He never has the right words to say so he doesn’t speak at all, just holds Lance close enough to feel his shaking sorrow in his own chest and doesn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on [tungly.com](https://www.w3schools.com/html/) about how i can't write or how much these two idiots own ur heart


End file.
